


The Alto of Death

by Jowzie



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jowzie/pseuds/Jowzie
Summary: Short I know but I can currently build a mansion with all my writer's blocks slfjlsjfkljmqsdklf





	1. Prologue

She hated them. She despised the reflection they gave. The ability to bounce off light was infuriating.

She was Thanatou. The alto from the Prima Donna Christine. More known was her sister Elpheme. She was an aspiring Prima Donna, raking in the roles at the Opera Houses. Thanatou barely sees the light of day on a daily basis.

She was Thanatou. Named after the Greek word Bringer of Death. Her mother nearly died while giving birth to her, enraging Raoul, her father. He called her Thanatou to punish her.  
And she hated mirrors.


	2. ένα

"Higher! Higher!", yelled maman. I tried to go higher up the scale, but a croak escaped my lips. I beat my chest, trying to cough the phlegm out, although I knew it would have no use. "Maman, you know I cannot go that high. Why are you pushing me?" She sighed. "I want to make clear to your father that you are just as precious as your sister. You have to step out of her shadows!"  
"Maman, I don't have to be like Elpheme. I do not like the opera. Too many bombastic costumes, random outbursts of singing and it just makes no sense in the first place." Maman sighed and placed her cup of tea on the mahogany table. She rubbed her hands into her eyes. I stood up from the stool and left the room.

Five years later  
"Hurry! We'll miss our cab!", exclaimed papa as he dragged maman to the door. I heard the scraping of elegant heeled shoes against our wooden floor. They were leaving for the night, to watch the premier of Il Muto. Maman had once played in that opera, and now Elpheme had the lead role. Maman told her a million times she was "so proud of her". They never said they were proud of me.

I locked myself into my room after they left. I lit a candle and grabbed quill and paper. The lined music paper looked at me like it wanted to kill me, the bars where notes rest, slowly creeping up my shoulder and wrapping themselves around my neck. The music I wrote was nothing like opera. The music I wrote was entrancing, hypnotizing, but strangely cruel. Words like knuckles, bones, tissue and other slightly gory things were normal to me. Currently, Camelia was my favourite. I just thought it suited me. "Remember to put on silencer, exactly like our mother's words..." It gave the world something to think about, I imagined. But I remained certain that this would never see the light of day.

I removed the loose shoe from my right foot to inspect it. The flesh was scarce, my foot was just bones held together by see-through skin. I was born with this. Papa told maman it was a curse, the curse for ever being entranced by the Opera Ghost. I thought it was just bad luck.

I dipped the end of the quill in the black ink and began writing down notes for the piano accompagment for Camelia. I did play it in my head, but decided to go play it after I finished more measures. Getting my cane, getting up from the chair, limping to the grand piano in our music room... life is not easy for a cane girl. I placed the quill on the paper and wrote.

~

The light of my candle was bounced back by my silver trumpet. I scooted my chair over to where it laid in its wooden case. My fingers went over the valves, caressing the instrument. I took it out of its case and blew on the mouthpiece to warm it up. The metal made a cold ring on my lips, but it was quickly warming up to my mouth. I placed the sheet music I composed for the trumpet in the case as if it were a music stand and played a few scales. Elpheme always said trumpet sounded like a dying animal. I countered that her head voice sounded like a high pitched violin string at the point of snapping. Ah, it didn't matter. As long as I had my compositions and stationery, I could manage.

Knocks on my door interrupted my first playthrough of the trumpet piece. Giraldine, one of our maids, came in. "Oh, excusez-moi, Mademoiselle. I did not know you were still home." Poor Giraldine. She had hoped she could for once clean my room. "I stayed behind, I got lots of work to finish." Giraldine closed the door again. I sighed. Concentration: gone.

I scooted back over to the sheet music. Camelia wasn't finished yet. I recalled the dark alleyway. Maybe I could put some of that experience in there.

I walked down the streets of Paris. My cane made a clicking sound on the pavement. The night had fallen, and I would sure get a scowling from maman. But I had to get new paper. Elpheme had used the stash to write down the ballet moves she had to rehearse. So, it was my duty to get lined and music lined paper.

This was not a nice part of Paris. Tobacco was smoked, beer was consumed and fights began or ended. A particular café was sometimes dubbed le café à frapper, for the many... discussions that went on there. Needless to say, I marched on as fast as possible.

"'Allo, Mad'moiselle! How are ye doin'?" A guy grabbed me by the waist. "Aïe!", I exclaimed, gripping my cane tighter. That could give someone a few bruises. "Wherrrre do we think we goin', Mad'moiselle?"

"Echoing down on the corridor  
The soul of a naked man, looking for more.  
Looks like you still stand,

I punched him in the groin with the snake-shaped knob of my cane. He whinced, and that gave me the opportunity to bash the knob into his face. Blood came from nowhere, probably from his nose and eye sockets. I elbowed him another time. He hit the ground, but tried to tackle me. I placed the tip of my cane on his right hand, and pushed.  
He screamed.  
I walked away.

Let me finish you, bangbangbang.  
Camelia."

~

After a night of writing, I went to bed. My back ached and my foot became itchy again. That was a sign of overpressure. I curled up in a ball after putting on my night gown.

On the verge of slumber and wake, I wrote something down on the notebook on my nightstand.

We walk in our mother's water.  
But some prefer fiery veins over fluid transportation.  
I can't see and  
I can't feel  
What is all around me  
What will be and  
What is sealed  
Is fate one of those things for me?  
I didn't walk.  
I  
drowned  
.


	3. δύο

The day had arrived, and I was getting tired of papa and Elpheme. But most of all, I was getting tired of myself. I hated this house, how it remembered me of myself. My nails were almost invisible, bitten to the core. I had to get out of here for a bit, to get some breathable air. I grabbed my cane, filled a bag with a blanket, a bit of food, a glass water bottle and my sheet music. The faucet in my head was just slowly drying up, I had to wrench it open somewhere. 

I limped through Paris with no clear target. I felt like a freak, only old women walk like I do. The Opera House rose up before me. Well, what remained of it. Nobody would look for me here. Not like anyone would look for me.

I let my hand go over the old, burned wood. The building was like a fallen Titan, slain by the gods it once created. Wooden frames were the bones, torn rags were the tunic. Shattered windows were now blind eyes, staring into the common mind of all Parisiens. L'Opéra Populaire was no longer famous, but infamous.

With applying some pressure, I managed to creak open the door. Dust floated around, broken vases and other objects littered the ground. It was quiet in here. Just how I liked it.

After wandering around for some time, I went to the old changing rooms the ballerina's used. This is where maman got ready before she became Prima Donna... I always wondered how long it took to get everything donned and done. All that make up, for only a few hours, only to be washed off in one wipe.

I reached the Prima Donna changing room. Luckily, the door was open already and slightly ajar. I entered cane first.

Immediatly, I noticed the desk. "This is my writing spot now", I said to myself. I didn't pay attention to my surroundings, I had to sit down and write. A wave of inspiration was coming, I could feel the tide move before the oncoming storm.

My pen scraped over the paper, sharp handwriting scarring beautiful paper with word combinations only maniacs could think of. Sequences of syllables, created by lunatics. Clusters of sentences, fabricated in a wicked, twisted reality of a tormented mind.

I didn't know how much time passed after I decimated about thirty sheets of paper with thoughts. It seemed only a short amount of time passed, but my internal clock is often miscalculating. I got up from the chair, grabbed my cane and went towards the window overlooking the city. Dusk was coming to its end, taking twilight in its footsteps. Ursa Major, or as people called it: the great bear, was already visible. I really should get home. Just as I was about to set my foot towards the door, I noticed it. The object of terror and fear in the Opera. The portal to Hell. The door towards the Tartaros, where Charon and Hades were one and the same person.  
In horror, I stared at my own reflection.

The mirror.

It was real.

I swallowed a lump in my throat I didn't knew I had until then. I touched the glass with my finger, only to be greeted by coldness. What did I expect, that the Phantom would bust out of nowhere and kidnap me?

I should've listened to my gut feeling.

I was five minutes into packing my paper, when I heard something slide open. I whipped my head around. My gaze met a pair of golden eyes, one sharply contrasting with the white background it was on. The white background turned out to be a mask, the golden eyes uncovered a malicious glimpse in them. Before I knew it, the man swept me off my feet.

I tried to yell, but his hand covered my mouth. I bit his fingers, but even after tasting blood he didn't let go. Kicking was futile, as my one leg was a genetic disaster. There was nothing I could do. I was doomed.

He sang a song, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~


	4. τρία

I woke up from a heavy slumber with a pounding headache and my hair a mess. My throat was as dry as a desert, making me swallow some saliva to try hydrating my mucus coating in my trachea. I opened my eyes and was greeted by the man with the mask. He tilted his head to the side as I stirred. It felt like I hadn't moved in years, my bones were cracking when I tried to stand up. All the motions were quite clumsy, seen that I didn't have my cane to balance on. And of course, the masked monster was watching everything. His eyes gleamed, a golden shimmer reaching out from the depths of his eye sockets.  
"You're awake."

His voice was remarkably alluring, although it differed from the voice that sang me to sleep. I swallowed once again.  
"Why did you bring me here?"

"I brought you here because you invaded my territory. Nobody has been in the Prima Donna's dressing room for years. You came to the Opéra Populaire for a reason, _Mademoiselle._ I do think I have the right to know why you are here."

"I'm here because I wanted to be alone. You kind of interfere with that, don't you think?", I spat back. How was this man still alive? Was he some kind of immortal being? The whole opera was burned, not even the prop cellars survived. How could it be that his "lair" still existed?

"I can imagine you have quite some questions, but I will assure you: you'll have plenty of time to ask them. First, I want to ask _you_ some questions." He stood up from the chair he was seated in and walked towards the couch I was conveniently laid in. His cloak ruffled as he made his way over.

"Who are you?"

My father would do everything to disown me, even change my last name. I was planning on changing it myself to maman's, Daae. But for now, I said: "Thanatou DeChagny, though I doubt I'll be keeping that name."

The monster's eyes widened at my answer. His hands gripped the cloak, a muscle began to twitch under the skin of his jaw. "No, impossible! You are the spawn of that Vicomte!" His voice was more of a growl now, pure anger consuming him. I finally had found my balance and shot up from the couch. My heart was racing as it pumped adrenaline into my brain. I readied myself for a punch to the face or even a kick at my shins. Instead, he grabbed my chin and tilted it upwards, forcing me to look at him. He inspected my features, letting his eyes glide over the image of his intruder. His breath was cold, a sharp contrast to my warm cheeks.

"You got your mother's eyes." 

"I get told that a lot."

"You're prettier than I imagined the Vicomte's kids being." His thumb traced my jawline, his eyes looking for something in mine. I violently pulled my face away from his grasp. 

"What is your point in keeping me here? I'm no Prima Donna like my mother. There is no Opéra Populaire anymore to perform in. The organ has rung its last note since some idiot decided to let the chandelier fall on the stage and set the whole building ablaze." I had no respect for the being behind the disguise. He was a coward, hiding behind a porcelain mask that covered half of his face. He was the person that gave maman nightmares, he was the one dooming me to a life of being considered an illegitimate child by my own father. I wanted to tear the mask from his face, to peel the layer of innocent white from the face of this demon.

"You are the daughter of Christine Daae, Thanatou Daae. I made a mistake with your mother: I gave her a chance. I'm not risking it this time."

The candles blew out, bathing the lair in darkness.

"You'll have no other choice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short I know but I can currently build a mansion with all my writer's blocks slfjlsjfkljmqsdklf

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaw


End file.
